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Solitude
Freedom is Solitude.
-Independent Fran-
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leaflas

The wood she wander heedless of danger alow or lingering high is quiet. The quiet unsettles a leathery stomach as steel avoids a twig with light steps. Her claws leave naught of prints in the underbrush, the sweep of silver hair finer than most crowns dare not loose a precious strand; her presence barely echoing in that quiet. There is more, certes, ears forward ‘pon ‘er head speaking of echos that no abandoned wood would burden. The womb of this wood cradles a child precious to it, it whispers in ways she cannot truly hear, but only eaves drop ‘pon. The alienation burdens ‘er own soul, erelong it sinks to ‘er bones. The Veena knows a weight- a stare. The groan of supple wood forced into a finite bend as an arrow marks a pale face without release couples with ruby eyne. He has been seen, pale and pretty like a delicate bell hanging in the trees.

Fie, Humes do not belong in trees."

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heartlines | theweaponsmaster

ablackwing:

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          Magnificent is the beast that is aware of its own power, more magnificent still a man whom has been woven into sinew and starlight, Such was the being whom found himself facing down the viera whom he’d run into. It had not been intentional, not truly, his hands curled at his sides. But then, few were so brazen as to perform in such fashion and though he knew of the price upon his head, fewer still would ever dare to even think about this. The bounty must have been a fine one indeed. Green eyes found themselves trekking upon the figure whom had an arrow trained on him and he chuckled faintly at last, head tilting forward at last before the argent beast shifted, uncoiling himself and at last shifted his weight, hearing the creaking of the bowstring.

          “If you’re going to shoot,” he said softly, “then I suggest you do so before my patience ends.”

Indeed he had a plentiful bounty posted ‘pon the return of his head. They had wrought him to be a beast, naught but violent energy and malignance for those whom encountered him. They depicted to she a monster, not- this. He was large as they said, a massive Hume who would easily earn respect among the filthy, brutish Lizards. He was not a beast ‘owever, ne’er had she marked a beast who had not retaliated beneath the eminence of death. Even the Vorpal so pale and mysterious was more violent than she and she breaths. His scent burns her nose, strangles something inside of she, and the tension eases out of rawhide string. Arrow and bow lower closer to ‘er side, though well prepared in any case, but she removes the threat. Those acid eyes are not exempt from the chill of rubies drilling into his gaze, her voice enunciated clearly for his presumably duller ears. “Ye be the rouge, Sephiroth, aye?"

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Weather Storm
Craig Armstrong

masochisticsadist:

Weather Storm | Craig Armstrong

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busyoffofbasicinstinct:

Theweaponsmaster
Misleadingman

So, a playboy bunny and a space pirate walk into a bar… 

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"Oi. You two seen any hollows ‘round here? There was supposed t’be a big-ass one ‘round here somewhere…"

Of course, he’d never admit to having been lost, but it couldn’t hurt to at least ask. This place didn’t look like the place he’d been sent to before… Shit, did he really take that wrong of a turn?

Mayhaps he did.

The question he asks without any preface of garnering their attention does force the turn of her head, those long columns of mottled ears twitching at a minute angle as carmine gaze appears from the depths of umber rimmed sockets. The fleshy pink that invades at the more intimate corners and folds of her anatomy can do naught to soften the chill of her response, teeth queerly long for the full mouth she has bared at the last hint of her concise iteration. “What ye speak of, this ‘Hollow’?" She offers him not the benefit of more, nor her genuine curiosity, her body shading the favored Hume in instinct from the Mist’s aura ‘pon this mammoth of a man. Gardyloo, Wood forbid that he hold Lizard stock to his blood.

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Transcendence (Orchestral Version)
Lindsey Stirling

heavens-phoenix:

lindseystriling:

This is so beautiful 

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comfort for the miserable/

misleadingman:

— Fingers gave a light squeeze to the neck of a half-empty bottle within his grasp, lips twitching with the irritation that came from the onslaught of curious questions from the other’s (unwelcome, no doubt) end. But the chatter wouldn’t end despite his obvious indifference and focus on the beer at hand, so attention was given where it was called for with a scowl. Tomaj had known Balthier long enough to know how to tread with the male, and carefully seemed to slip Tomaj’s mind with the sky pirate’s absence. He gave a glance every time it was due between words, but his mind dwindled elsewhere with what the other asked of him.

   "So about Fran—"

— That was where his interest was gained, and stayed, even though the blushing pansy before him tried his best to get answers out of a man who spoke little to everyone that wasn’t the woman mentioned. Words almost left his tongue with a bitter taste to them - almost - but the leading man losing his composure over such a trivial topic would’ve been the end of his role. Lips parted to let in more of the familiar liquid, downing what was left of the bottle before something seethed its way out of him. He almost bit his tongue - again with the almost - but knew a few choice words were as good as any to the lovestruck bartender.

   ”I asked her to see how the Strahl was doing, but she’ll be here soon. She’s not one to stick to what bores her.”

— A slight, if slight was the right amount, hint of confidence was laced with his reply as a smirk followed its ending. A pat on the back for himself with having gained said Viera’s interest, and trust, over time, but maybe the bumbling buffoon before him would take the bigger hint of Balthier’s not wanting such company - and he did, after a few more unasked for confessions. The man did his job well as a bartender, but courting was better suited for the men that acted their parts; and since he had the biggest, and best, one, he clearly had no reason to downplay the would-be competition. After all, she was his partner.

— Tomaj’s leave left him to his thoughts and, finally, some peace. The tavern still lacked the appropriate volume to earn his comfort, but that was what she was for. The door opened and his view from the second floor gave him the advantage of catching the first glimpse to who he had expected, lips once again curving to give way to his trademark smirk as he waited for her arrival to their usual table. Heels clacked on wood with her power, a satisfied look tossed in their direction as the sound continued until their wearer reached him. Empty bottle is gestured to as he speaks up to greet his less-than-pleased companion.

   ”How good of you to join me. I take it our beauty’s at her best?”

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Nook and cranny alike were not spared from the critical gaze of garnet laced eyes, a concoction of blood and ice forming brutal judgement that spec of dust and scratches were offered. Her heels had been abandoned ‘pon the ground for minutes long enough to spin into hours, allowing merely the thick pads of graceful feet paired with claws to trespass the open wings of their kind beast of wings. Their freedom was treated with kind mouth and claw with the reverence a family misfit and lacking the connection of a familiar womb cling together. The Strahl be a harboring beauty to soothe the hearts twin that hold great unease in any other case, her wings a shelter as snow falls in reverse and her body lands in an easy crouch. Heels are toed closer, claws plucking at the plush bridge support before eyes wander from the steel contraptions. The sun shifts lower ‘pon the dome of gay blue skies, allowing carmine to catch sight of a fluttering piece of white.

A single pistol is the physical weight ‘pon her capable shoulders, cool against the bare flesh that it intrudes with its unfeeling touch. The steel tickles at fur that lines cocoa hide, it pulls when she steps aside a rolling fruit that smells near rotten, and it thuds when a shift of her elbow drives the butt into a drunkard’s side, driving the foul smelling Hume far away from her person. Better suited she was to coexist with such unfeeling objects than the flesh and blood of the teenage lovers that grope and copulate along an alley she passes. Her chill she creates with animation alone makes Humes scuttle and emboldens the rouge Bangaa that draw near. A pub sign creaks and she ignores the lizard’s provoking breath as claws scrape wood in annoyed testament.

The pub bustles and people shout, her ears draw in the sounds of jovial conversation with the clinking of scant to copious gil along with the hushed anger of affairs she held no interest for. Her ears that held mottled tips of umber blush spoon the air as her head tilts back, crimson lifting up a small set of stairs to where hazel eyes more wicked than not smirk upon her features. He was a spoiled boy in his youth and he lacks the ability to slough off such appearance when he holds an upper hand. She takes the steps without haste, each step forcing steel points to click along worn wood, a bar maid skittering aside when the Veena finally ascends to the new platform. A particularly robust pair of Humes quiet as she passes, her pistol plucked off her shoulders to rest on the back of a chair she shall soon possess, their stares warded with the mundane gesture.

Aye." Her response be curt, spoken without a fond lilt as ears and eyes fall upon them, a murmur of bounty heard from below their perch. The palm that has remained closed with a tight fist doth finally rouse from its stout hold, uplifting and opening to let a single kerchief flutter down right ‘pon the mouth of his hollow bottle. "Mayhaps however ye cease wooing maiden and spouse alike to the ramp of our kind Strahl." A pointed look is delivered as she grasps the back of the chair, lifting the feet upwards to smack it down in a controlled gesture, the clatter sending a command for something strong and quick as she settles into the nearly shoddily made throne. "T’was caught in the hydraulics, a disaster to pressure had it interfered more." Her gaze rakes across his face and there it appears, the fact that her annoyance is merely minimal. She can train him to take nose to the wind and predict the unruly storms, but never can the Archadian be tamed. She cradles a glass of amber that is placed before her without reverence, eyes deep and precise in their gaze refusing to budge from his own, cocoa tiers parting to beckon glass and his response.

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This blog is active once more.

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Day 3: Center or justify the type

Day 3: Center or justify the type

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“ No one knows men like Fran does. ”
Balthier - Final Fantasy XII (via the-seeress-yeul)
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